


Trader (By Birth and Blood)

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, GFY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is Aika Jai Tano'bi, and she has just fallen in love twice over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trader (By Birth and Blood)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my self-imposed celebration of Re-Entry's ten-year anniversary.

She is Aika Jai Tano’bi when she meets Cliegg Lars.  “He’s a desert rat,” her father says, but there is a pleased glint in his eyes when he speaks.  “Go and play, Aika.  We ship out in the morning once cargo is loaded.  Might as well spend some time on planet soil while we’re here.”

Tatooine is hot and dusty.  Not an ideal choice if Aika had been given one, but it’s still a planet, and she’s been shipboard for sixteen weeks now.  “Where do you go to have fun on this rock, anyway?” Aika asks the boy.

Cliegg Lars grins at her.  “Lady, I usually come here to port.  If you wanted someplace fun, you shoulda picked a different rock.”

She scowls at him.  “I am _not_ a Lady.  I am Aika Jai Tano’bi, daughter of Thati Dai Keno’bi.”

“Oh!  You’re trader folk!  That’s wizard,” Cliegg says, even more enthusiastic than before.  “Trader folk have the best tales.”

Aika snorts her disbelief.  “We see space.  And then more space.  Oh, and space again.  Boring!  Do you fly, Lars?”

“I’m decent at it,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.  “You have to be able to fly just to get from one settlement to another, here.  Can’t exactly walk from Mos Espa to Mos Eisley.”

“My father has two swoops from the Mark III campaign.  Show me something cool,” Aika demands.  Cliegg isn’t stupid, but he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.  If she does not push, night will fall, and they will still be standing here.

“Cool?  There’s nothing cold on this rock,” Cliegg says, confused.

“Slang, desert rat.  It means wizard.”

Cliegg smiles.  “I’m farmer stock, not a rat.”

Aika feels her eyes grow large.  “You have a farm?”

“Yeah,” Cliegg confirms, giving her an odd look.

“A _real_ farm?” she repeats, wanting to be certain.  When he nods, it’s all she can do not to jump up and down.  “Show me show me show me show me!” Aika chants.

“You’re _weird_ ,” Cliegg retorts, but he’s grinning, and follows her to the swoops willingly enough.  “My Dad’s over in the cantina.  We stop there first and let him know what’s going on, so he doesn’t worry and go looking all over Mos Entha for me.”

She meets Cliegg’s father, who has apparently come to town to water himself well in the cantina, but he is sober enough when he greets her.  Then they pilot swoops, and it’s a glorious ride.  Tatooine seems to be sandy and flat at first glance, but Cliegg takes her through canyon runs that make her whoop with joy.

Cliegg’s mother is older than she expects, but is very kind to Aika, despite the fact that her son has hauled a complete stranger into her kitchen.  “You’re Trader folk?” 

Aika nods.  “We’re At’talr.”

Gredda Lars smiles.  “You’re good people.  Stay for dinner, all right?”

Aika agrees.  She is never so foolish that she would turn down a free meal, and she has already realized that she likes Cliegg’s company.  He is her age, but he’s long and lean and tanned; by contrast, shipboard life means that she is short and thin and pale, despite her dark hair and eyes.

Aika falls in love with the farm at her first sight of the green plants hanging from the ceiling.  “Hydroponics?”

“It has to be,” Cliegg says, running his hands along the green leaves of the closest plant, one bearing near-ripe melons.  The symbology of it is not lost upon Aika, and his hands are gentle as he touches the plant.  Saliva floods her mouth; suddenly she wants nothing more than to feel his hands upon her skin.

Cliegg notices the intensity of her gaze and blushes a deep, charming red.  “Whatcha staring at, Aika?”

“You,” she says, and grins as he starts to stammer.  It’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

She’s sixteen Standard, Trader by birth and blood, and she has just fallen in love twice over.

  
*          *          *          *

 

“You want to settle.”

Aika nods at her father.

“You want to settle on a _planet_.  And _stay._ ”  Her father looks at her as he says this.  Thati Dai Keno’bi doesn’t seem to believe he is saying the words.

“He asked me to marry him.  I said yes, Father.”

“Bless the gods,” her father mutters, and slumps down in his chair.  “I knew I should have bred another heir somewhere.  I only have you, and you want to be dirt-bound!”

She grins, because she knows her father, and he is not rejecting her.  “I know.  I shall bring such vast shame upon my family, falling in love with a farmer and his dirt.”

Thati grimaces.  “Please tell me that, at the very least, you aren’t staying on Tatooine.”

“No, no, and also: No,” Aika refutes.  “If one could live in the hydroponic houses underground, it wouldn’t be so bad, but Tatooine suits me not at all.  And since the accident, Cliegg has not been fond of the idea of staying, anyway.”

Her father nods; he had liked old Lef, and Cliegg’s younger brother Edern.   Their loss grieved her betrothed.  To lose his family, to a _speeder accident_ , of all things!  Aika shakes her head.  Cliegg’s mother took the news badly.  Gredda Lars is now ill, and Aika worries that she will not live to see her eldest son wed.

Aika still believes that Tuskens or Jawas were involved, the former more so than the latter, but Cliegg didn’t wish to discuss it.  She does not blame him, as she had not been one for speaking when her mother had passed on, either. 

“We’re going to Ator, to become caretakers of one of the government farms,” she says, and is surprised when her father starts laughing.  “What?  What is it?”

“Child, you were _born_ there, in one of the medical centers,” Thati says, still chuckling.  “They were glad to see the backside of us.  You were noisy, and your mother broke two medical droids giving birth to you.”

“That’s nice to know,” she says, feeling an impish smile on her face.  “There are special benefits granted to natives who choose to run the farms.”

Thati nods, pleased.  “That’s my girl.  Who are you going to have ink your sleeve?”

“I was thinking of asking Uncle Ob’wan.  He’s still the best I’ve seen with ink and blade.”

“He’s not really your uncle, you know,” Thati says with a slight scowl.  He and Ob’wan do not get along, though it is an animosity that has never gone beyond ill-tempered words.  Ob’wan is a teacher of many skills her father does not really care to see passed on among the Traders.  On her last visit to her honorary Uncle’s home ship, Aika demanded he teach her to count cards.  Her father had looked fit to chew on a bulkhead, but how the hell else is Aika supposed to beat her betrothed at Sabacc?  She might be marrying a farmer, but if you give Cliegg Lars a deck of cards, he becomes a gambler of the highest caliber.

Ob’wan also shares her slight gift with the Force, and they can speak together in a way that Aika never can with her father.  Thati, she suspects, is always sad that the gift was denied him.  She will breathe a word of this to no one; it is a secret of her father’s heart, and not hers to tell.

For the part that Ob’wan has played in her life, having him bleed ink into her skin is her way of giving thanks.  Aika also thinks that he would be very cross if she allowed anyone else to do so.

“You are just jealous that Uncle Ob’wan taught me to play Sabacc better than you,” Aika says with a cheeky grin.

Thati just growls under his breath, and Aika knows the argument is over.  She will have her full sleeve on her wedding day, and all will know the story of her joining with Cliegg Lars.

*          *          *          *

 

“Ben Lars,” says Cliegg.

“Keno’bi!” Aika insists, annoyed.  She stalks away from her spouse, trying not to fume.  Her temper is so uncertain of late! 

“We have had this discussion, love, and you were well aware of it when you signed the marriage contract.  My firstborn is to be named in the tradition of my people.”  She allows her expression to soften.  “Besides, if he shows even half of the gift that I believe him to possess, he goes to the Jedi.  He will not be your heir.” 

 “Can’t such decisions wait?” Cliegg whispers, and that catches her attention.  She turns to face him, surprised by the glint of moisture in his eyes.  “He hasn’t even been born yet.  Let him be Ben Lars, just for now?”

When she remembers, Aika feels foolish and cruel.  “I’m sorry.  Sometimes I forget, my love, that you aren’t familiar with Trader ways.  The gift shows up often enough that we are used to giving our sons and daughters to the Order.”

Cliegg nods, but his sadness does not abate.  “There’s never been someone that strong in the Force in my family before.  I’ve never done this.  I don’t know how to give him up, and I haven’t yet held him in my arms.”

Aika goes to him and holds her husband close, no easy feat when eight months of pregnancy distends her belly.  “You will never give him up.  He is your son, and no matter what paths he walks, he will _remain_ your son.”

He is crying, and she takes out a soft handkerchief and wipes his bearded cheeks.  “Aika, I’ve always been surrounded by family.  Always.  But then I lost Dad and Edern to that damn accident, and Mom died after the wedding—Aika, you and this baby are all I have.  Can you blame me for not wanting to see him go?”

“No, I can’t,” she admits, and comforts her husband as best she can.  In her heart, though, she knows that her son will be a Jedi.  She has moments of prescience; she always sees a man with Cliegg’s blue-grey eyes, and the bright copper hair of his grandmother Gredda. 

The man her son will be wields a lightsaber like one of the old legends of the _Jeedai._

  
*          *          *          *

When he is born, Aika knows that even Cliegg felt that bright burst of Force presence, and it breaks her heart.

Despite his earlier worries, Cliegg cradles his son with a glad smile on his face.  “It’s a good thing I only bet on cards, love,” he says to her, where she lies exhausted on the birthing bed.  The tradition lives on; she has destroyed a medical droid in a fit of birthing-induced anger.

“Name him,” she says, and nods when he gives her a curious look.  “You have the honor of his surname, love.”  She grins.  “It’s in the contract.”

Cliegg barks out a laugh, startling their newborn son.  He wrinkles up his face and gives vent to a fierce cry, and then stuffs one tiny fist into his mouth in a clear sulk.

“Obi-Wan,” Cliegg says, which makes Aika blink up at him in surprise.

“After Uncle Ob’wan?  Truly?”

“Well, I figure naming our son after a crazy old bastard will give him something to be proud of when he’s a Jedi,” Cliegg says, and smoothes his son’s patch of wispy blond hair with a gentle hand.

Aika laughs, a tired breath of sound.  The birth was not easy.  “I am not sure the Jedi would appreciate your point of view.”

“Eh, fuck 'em if they can’t take a joke.  Maybe we can make sure the Corellian Temple gets him.”

“I think the Corellians have their fill of crazy.  The Coruscant Temple will suit him better,” Aika says, the words a certainty. 

“Little Obi-Wan Dai Kenobi,” Cliegg says, still giving his new son a silly, besotted smile.  “What a big name for such a little thing.”

“Not Dai,” Aika says, shaking her head.  “He is of the clan but separate; Dai is for those males who will be heirs.”

“Shit,” Cliegg says, and looks momentarily appalled.  “We’ve still got to make another for your line, then!”

She laughs at him.  “Love, no!  The second child is your heir.”

“By contract, right?” he jokes, giving her a lopsided smile.

“By fairness, too,” Aika retorts, reaching for a glass of water by the bedside.  Cliegg hefts the baby onto his shoulder and gets the water for her.  The drink is cool and refreshing.  She is tempted to upend it on her head.

“Well, guess we’ll have to make plenty more, then,” Cliegg says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“If you so much as touch me in a sexual manner right now, I will break every bone in your body,” she growls back, which makes her husband laugh.

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s birthdate and name are written down in the family ledger, and she comms the news to the At’talr with a glad smile.  There will be celebrations, even if he cannot be her true heir.  He is of Trader blood, and that is enough.

Her son’s midichlorian count at birth is the highest her people have produced in four generations.  Aika is also informed that her son is sterile.  She is saddened by this news, but as he is an otherwise healthy infant, she does not dwell on it.  Obi-Wan will be among the Jedi, and producing children will be the least of his worries.

 

*          *          *          *

 

They do try for more children.  They try a lot, and often, and sometimes in public when they feel adventurous, even though “in public” actually means “in the field.”  She can see the massive ecumenopolis that covers Ator from their home, but cannot hear any of its clamor, and the privacy is glorious.

Cliegg worries that she will get bored, but Aika is bored by space, not by land.  She loves her husband, loves farming, loves playing in muddy soil until she is coated with it.  Her husband finds her antics arousing.  Still, her womb remains empty.

She visits medical droids and doctors, and they take blood.  Then she is asked to come back.  Medical droids take bone marrow samples for testing, accompanied by yet more blood, and doctors ask her odd questions.

They tell her she will die before the age of forty.  She has just turned thirty.

The only question she can think to ask is, “Why?”

The medical droid starts to answer, but her human doctor shushes it.  Doctor Tannb gives her a sad smile.  “Genetic lottery.  Shitty luck.  I don’t know why, since it’s not hereditary.  Rhen’s Disease strikes at random.  The sad thing is we don’t know a damn thing about it beyond what it does, since we usually don’t find it until the patient’s already dead.  We got lucky with you.”

“Lucky?” Aika repeats, incredulous.  “You tell me I will die long before I reach middle age, and I am to consider this lucky?”

Doctor Tannb nods.  “Yes.  There is pain in the later stages.  Since we know of the Rhen’s, we will at least be able to treat you for that, and keep you comfortable.  And…”

His hesitation is irritating.  “And, what?”

“With the living samples you have been able to give us, we may learn enough about the disease quickly enough to offer you a _real_ treatment,” Doctor Tannb explains, but she can read the doubt in his eyes.

“Not in ten years, you can’t.”

“It is not beyond the realm of possibility,” Tannb says, looking cross.

Aika narrows her eyes.  “Never lie to me again.  Now tell me:  I have a son.  Will he—”

“No,” the doctor says, quick to reassure.  “The sterility your child was born with is the only mark of the disease he will carry.  That, I can promise you.”

Aika closes her eyes, and feels like she can breathe again.  Bad enough to be cursed with a slow death.  It would have destroyed her to know she had given her seven-year-old son the same fate.

*          *          *          *

 

She is pregnant, and she is dying.  Aika is not fond of the combination.  There is no regret for the new life developing in her womb, but there is no doubt that birthing her second son will destroy what remains of her health.

Cliegg asks her if she wishes to abort.  Aika refuses to speak to him for an entire day.  This is the last thing she will be able to give to her husband; pregnancy will not alter her fate.  She will not end one life just to add a year or two to her own. 

“No one would think less of you,” Doctor Tannb tells her during her latest medical appointment.  The pain is bad, but he has given her treatments that make it tolerable.

“I know,” Aika says, and sighs heavily.  “And I would think no less of anyone else, were they in my situation and chose not to be pregnant.  But Marc,” she continues, giving her doctor a stern look.  “ _I_ would feel selfish.  Cliegg will have his son.  I will not leave him alone.”

Doctor Marc Tannb does not ask again.  She is grateful for that.

Aika Lars is thirty-three Standard, and she is slowly coming to grips with the fact that she will see neither of her sons grown.  She will never see her eldest son Knighted; she will never see her new son choose a mate and continue his father’s line.

If she cries a lot, she blames the pregnancy hormones.  Cliegg doesn’t believe her, but nods anyway when she uses the flimsy excuse.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Aika gives birth to her second, last child on her birthday.  It is the best present she has ever received.

“Your turn,” Cliegg says, pressing the small, wrapped, wailing bundle into her arms.  Her husband is weeping, as is Marc, even though he is still busy dealing with the afterbirth.

Aika is exhausted, more than when she birthed her Obi-Wan.  She understands that this time, the exhaustion will not fade.

She looks down into another wrinkled red face.  Her son is not happy about his birth, and not content to chew on his hands as his brother had been.  “You are the last of my youth,” Aika says, and when she cries, they are tears of happiness.  She had feared in her secret heart that her body would fail before his birth, and her husband would be left with nothing.

“You are Owen Lars,” Aika dubs him, and Owen stops squalling long enough to gaze up at her with luminous blue eyes.  He will look exactly like his father when he is grown.  He has a touch of the gift, like she does, but nothing more.  The Jedi will not claim him.

“Oh, I see,” Aika says, when Owen continues to give her a puzzled look.  “I am only the birther.  You and your brother both decided not to look a whit like me.”

Owen scrunches up his tiny face and lets out another wail, this time announcing the imminent rise of his appetite.  Cliegg grins and goes to fetch a bottle, as her breasts have not filled to feed her new son.

“You will have from me what Obi-Wan did,” Aika whispers to her baby as she feeds him.  Tiny hands grip the bottle lid and hold on for all they are worth.  Already, he is strong.  “I will be with you for your first year, Owen Dai Lars.” 

Aika holds Owen closer, and refuses to grieve.  “I will see your first birthday.  I promise.”


End file.
